


The Trousers

by dustjacket



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Arguing, Bad Fashion, Date Night, Dialogue Heavy, Established Relationship, M/M, The Arrangement, Trolling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 13:49:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustjacket/pseuds/dustjacket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I’m serious, where on earth did you find those? I didn’t even know it was POSSIBLE to make tartan corduroy."</i>
</p><p>Crowley takes issue with Aziraphale's fashion sense, or lack thereof. </p><p>Rated for implied sexytimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trousers

“Would you hurry up Angel, we’re going to be late for dinner!”

“Oh pooh, you know we don’t need reservations anyway.”

“Yes, but I’m starting to get twitchy from sitting here, I’m hungry.”

“You know we don’t need to eat, either.”

“Neither do we need to spend half an hour choosing outfits, and yet here we are...”

Crowley heaved a sigh and sunk further down into Aziraphale’s dusty couch. The bloody angel had been up in his room for the past twenty minutes changing into “appropriate dinner wear,” as he called it. Crowley had tried to explain that what he was wearing was perfectly presentable, but Aziraphale had pointed to a barely visible stain and refused to leave until he was permitted to change his trousers, at least.

“You know, some might call this vanity.” Crowley hissed, toying with an abandoned cork left over from the previous nights bender.

“Well, excuse me for wanting to look respectable!” Aziraphale emerged from upstairs. The cork promptly flew across the room and Crowley bit his tounge.

“Angel–” Crowley spluttered “What in the name of Go–, Sa–...my Bentley are you wearing?!”

“You don’t like them?” Aziraphale did a little twirl.

“They’re...they’re...”

“They’re what?”

“Absolutely hideous.”

“Hmph.”

“I’m serious, where on earth did you find those? I didn't even know it was POSSIBLE to make tartan corduroy.

“I rather like them, besides–”

“–if you say tartan is stylish, so help me...”

“Oh, like they’re anymore ridiculous then your leather jacket!”

“You...you don’t like the jacket?” Crowley felt mildly offended, rubbing the sleeve of his prized coat.

“I–” Aziraphale faltered. Crowley grinned, the angel was a terrible liar.

“You do like the jacket, admit it.”

“It is somewhat dashing, despite its...unsavoury origins.” Aziraphale wrinkled his nose.

“Thank you. But we still have to deal with the matter at hand. Namely those trousers.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Aziraphale lifted his jacket hem and stared down at his legs. Crowley nearly choked.

“ _They have an elastic waistband?!_ ”

“You are always complaining my suspenders are old-fashioned...”

“Yes, but that is  _not the solution_. There are so many things wrong with those that I have literally no idea where to begin...” Crowley trailed off, “...still haven’t answered my question by the way. Where did you get those hideous things?”

Aziraphale beamed in the way only an angel could beam. It was completely and utterly enthusiastic and made Crowley feel like he was getting a slight sunburn. Not a terrible feeling, just sort of...itchy.

“I bought them at the charity shop! They were only three pounds!”

“Ah, well that explains it. Let me tell you something, Angel.” Crowley walked over to Aziraphale and slung an arm over his shoulder, carefully avoiding touching the hideous trousers with his exquisite pant leg. He attempted to point Aziraphale back upstairs. “Charity shops, despite the name, are the clothing equivalent of Purgatory. It is where terrible clothing goes to live out the rest of its terrible pointless existence. The clothing there no longer serves a purpose, and by wearing those trousers you have destroyed the natural order. Now go change.”

“N..No!” Aziraphale braced his legs and crossed his arms, “I like them, and I’m wearing them!”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley looked serious, he rarely used the angel’s full name, “I refuse to be seen in public with those trousers.”

“Then you’ll have to go alone!” Aziraphale was really terrible at looking stubborn, he resembled a petulant kitten.

“Why don’t you wear those nice trousers I got you?”

“Crowley, please. They’re two sizes too small and far too narrow in the ankle.”

Crowley smirked, his plan to get the angel into skinny jeans would succeed someday...maybe not tonight though.

“Please Angel? I’ll pay for dinner!”

“It’s your turn to pay anyway, you owe me from that time in 1929.”

“I’ll stop flipping your store’s closed sign to open..”

“That was you? You old snake...but still no.”

“You know, I could just miracle the trousers into something less hideous.”

“I’d like to see you try.” The air crackled around Aziraphale, and Crowley shivered. Maybe that was not the right avenue to take...

“Are you going to make me take them off for you?”

“CROWLEY. Really, there’s no need for that.” Crowley grinned at the blushing angel, he would leave that option as Plan B. “Fine, what do I have to do to make you change?”

“You really hate them that much?” Aziraphale looked morose. Ah damn, thought Crowley. He’s gonna pull the sparkly angel eyes thing...Sure enough, Aziraphale’s lip gave a slight quiver.

“AGH, fine. You can wear them if you want...I won’t lie, they’re hideous. But if that’s the way you want to be, fine. Wear the damn trousers. I’ll just pretend you’re my crazy old golfing uncle for the evening...” Crowley deflated and sat down on the couch. “Can we just go? I really am hungry.” It was only then that he noticed Aziraphale was smiling like a madman and leaning one elbow against the doorjamb.

“Really, my dear. Did you think that even I failed to see the revulsion that is these trousers? I may be out of touch, but I’m not THAT out of touch.”

Crowley was confused, something was wrong...”

“You mean, you know those trousers are hideous.”

“Yes.”

“And yet you’re wearing them anyway.”

“Yes.”

“...why?” He was far too hungry to be thinking this hard, or at least he THOUGHT he was too hungry to be thinking this hard.

“Oh, I don’t know...maybe to see if you would still go in public with me if I was a total embarrassment to you?”

“You did this...to validate our relationship?”

“Our friendship, relationship, Arrangement, whatever you want to call it. I wanted to see what your reaction would be...” Aziraphale looked a little guilty.

“You...you...that was positively DEMONIC Angel!” Crowley couldn't decide whether to laugh or storm out in fury. “Really, I mean that! You are such a bastard!”

“Well, it worked didn't it? You agreed to go out even with these hideous things.”

“Oh, but you didn't hear about Plan B.”

“What, dear?”

“Another time, another time...” Crowley gave his most foreboding smile to Aziraphale, who involuntarily took a step back.

“Ha...Haaah. Well then, I’ll go change, shall I?”

“Wait,” Crowley sprung to his feet and blocked the way upstairs with his arm. He peered down at Aziraphale over his sunglasses. “that was a dirty trick you pulled, Angel. I’m not going to forget it...”

“Crowley? What are you doi–”

Crowley leaned in, “You fooled me, and now it’s my turn. You’re going to get punished.” He hissed the last word and could hear the angel’s unnecessary heartbeat quicken.

“Cr...Crowley?” Aziraphale's face was entirely red now. The demon leaned in, until his lips brushed the angel’s ear.

“You get to wear the trousers.” whispered Crowley. Aziraphale felt all the blood drain from his face.

“What?!” The angel spluttered.

“You wanted to wear them, now you have to!” Crowley cackled and bent over double.

“I most certainly do not! I’m changing right now!”

“Nope, too late. Let’s go.”

“I’ll...I’ll miracle them into something better!”

“Yes, but we would both still know, wouldn't we?” Crowley gave his best pious look. It didn't work very well, but it got the point across.

“Crowley, please! They’re hideous!”

“I’m afraid I’m going to get the last word on this one, Angel.”

Crowley dragged the protesting Aziraphale out to the Bentley and drove them to the Ritz. There was a table, of course, despite Aziraphale’s fervent prayers. Apparently God was to busy to be concerned with a single angel’s fashion faux pas. Crowley giggled to  _Radio Gaga_ all the way to the restaurant. After a dinner that included a waiter nearly tripping and, unfortunately, not spilling his tureen of beet soup in Aziraphale’s lap, Crowley insisted they take a long walk through the nightlife of SoHo. When they returned to the bookstore later, Aziraphale was not as peeved as he expected.

“Crowley, what is a ‘hipster,’ and why were all those nice young people referring to me as one?”

“Yeah, yeah, gloat all you want. I forgot to take into account the youth fashion of today. Ugly is in. Or at least it’s ironic.”

“One of yours, I’m assuming?”

“I’m not sure. I got a commendation for it, in any case.”

“Am I allowed to take off the trousers now?”

“Wait a bit, I want to discuss something first.” Crowley drew a bottle of wine out from a hidden crevice in the back room.

“Discuss what?” Aziraphale slung his suit jacket and hat onto a coat rack and sat next to Crowley with a few glasses. Crowley placed his sunglasses on the coffee table and grinned at Aziraphale.

“Plan B.”


End file.
